


To be honest, I just wanted a chance to look at the stars with you.

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: Collected Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: Zevran couldn’t help but stare. Theron so rarely let his hair down - in both the figurative and literal sense - that it was fascinating to see how long it was outside of the braids, long enough to fall down his shoulders in a curtain. It wasn’t as voluminous as Zevran had first imagined it was; he’d met so many Antivan or Rivani people with skin as dark as Theron’s with far curlier hair than his. It fell in such neat ‘S’ shaped curves that he wasn’t sure if the shape was due to the braids or if it grew naturally like that. Theron’s hands were steady as he combed his hair. The firelight shimmered in thin orange threads up and down the moving black waves, giving the whole process a hypnotic quality as the sunlight continued to fade.





	To be honest, I just wanted a chance to look at the stars with you.

The campfire crackled, occasionally throwing off bright sparks that rose up towards the evening sky. They’d just finished dinner, and the plates and crockery lay in a neat pile next to a bucket of water ready to be washed. 

Zevran watched Theron in the slowly fading daylight. They’d bathed in a nearby lake before dinner, and Theron had taken his braids out to wash his hair. Through cooking and eating dinner, he’d kept his black hair loose to dry in the fire. Now he sat combing some kind of floral-scented mousse into his scalp with a wooden comb. The wide-set teeth of the comb eased through any tangles that had developed in his wavy hair. 

Zevran couldn’t help but stare. Theron so rarely let his hair down - in both the figurative and literal sense - that it was fascinating to see how long it was outside of the braids, long enough to fall down his shoulders in a curtain. It wasn’t as voluminous as Zevran had first imagined it was; he’d met so many Antivan or Rivani people with skin as dark as Theron’s with far curlier hair than his. It fell in such neat ‘S’ shaped curves that he wasn’t sure if the shape was due to the braids or if it grew naturally like that. Theron’s hands were steady as he combed his hair. The firelight shimmered in thin orange threads up and down the moving black waves, giving the whole process a hypnotic quality as the sunlight continued to fade.

Zevran eventually pulled his gaze away and set to washing up. The silence between them was a comfortable one as they focused on their respective tasks. Soon, however, Theron calling his name drew Zevran’s attention.

“Yes,  _ amor _ ?” He asked, knelt over the bucket and up to his elbows in the dishwater. Theron smiled at him, his lean face framed by his long hair.

“Would you help me rebraid my hair? I’d do it myself, but…” Theron gestured up to the sky above them. Zevran thought he could see the evening star if he squinted enough. “I’d be here all night.”

“Of course, my dear,” Zevran got up, drying his hands on the dishcloth, and sat next to Theron. “You know, you’re lucky that I have such quick, skilled fingers.”

“I know you do.”

“Mm, you couldn’t stop telling me so the other night.”

Theron laughed at that, and in the glow of the fire and the setting sun Zevran could see him blush. How adorable. No-one was around to overhear them, and yet Theron was still embarrassed. Zevran leaned over and pressed a kiss to one of Theron’s cheeks. “I do enjoy watching you squirm,” he whispered before he sat back. “Now, where should we begin with all of this hair?”

Theron cleared his throat, and ran a hand over his hair to ensure it was dry enough. “I was thinking we start at the nape and work our way up?” 

Zevran nodded agreement. “Sounds like a good plan. Turn your head a little?” Theron did as asked, turning so Zevran could see his profile half-hidden behind his hair. 

They settled into another comfortable silence as they began to work, Theron holding most of his hair out of the way so Zevran could work. Zevran touched Theron’s hair with great care, loving the slightly coarse quality to the strands that pulled through his fingers as he sectioned off enough hair for the first braid. Dry, freshly washed, it felt and glimmered like black silk. It was so loose, not yet under tension from the braid. It had been a while since he’d last helped Theron with this task, and soon paused.

“How thick are your braids again? I know they are thicker than mine, but I don’t want to make them too big and force you to do even more work.”

Theron chuckled, and turned his head carefully to grin at Zevran. “I can think of _ so many _ dirty jokes about length and thickness.” 

“Would you care to share some of them?” Zevran grinned back.

Theron hummed in thought. “Well, mine is certainly thicker than yours. Much, much longer, too.”

Zevran snorted. “Was that your best attempt? For shame,  _ mi amor _ .”

“It’s something I’ll have to work hard at later.” Theron rolled his eyes. “My braids are about as thick around as my thumb. Try not to pull too hard.”

“When have I ever pulled you too hard?” Zevran couldn’t help a smirk at his own terrible joke. Theron sighed his disappointment. If he could have shook his head to accompany that sigh, Zevran was sure that he would.

“If you keep that up, you’ll be sleeping in your own furs tonight,” Theron warned, but there was no bite to the threat. For all Theron complained, they both enjoyed coming up with such terrible innuendo. Zevran tutted, but returned to braiding without further comment. Right section first, over middle, then left over right, over and over again as he fell into the familiar rhythm of the task at hand, not making the braid too tight against Theron’s scalp. He neatly finished the first braid. Theron ran his fingers over it and held it up to examine it. Only after he received a satisfied nod did Zevran start on the next braid. Again, he thought of all the men and women he’d met who had similar hair, and all the different ways they’d worn it. Some had worn their braids with brightly coloured beads or feathers. Others hadn’t worn braids at all, but let their hair hang in loose waves.

“Are you sure I cannot convince you to wear a different style of braids? Something… More visually interesting?” He ventured.

“What’s wrong with my braids the way they are?”

“Well, with hair like yours, you could do a lot with it.” Zevran paused, holding Theron’s hair loosely between his fingers, so close to the scalp he was afraid the slightest movement would pull too hard. “Different styles of braids, you could arrange them in a different way, perhaps?”

“But I like the ponytail,” Theron replied. “It’s simple, keeps my hair out of the way.” He turned his head slowly, carefully, to look at Zevran. “I spend so much time on my hair already, and this is the way I’ve always done it.” He paused, and Zevran got a sense of the unspoken in his storm-grey eyes.  _ It’s tradition. I don’t want to change _ . “Maybe if we spend a few months in a city where I won’t have to worry about washing out dirt and gore…” Theron shrugged. 

“Maybe,” Zevran echoed, and decided to drop the subject. “It was a suggestion, but your hair is lovely no matter how you wear it, my dear.”

He refocused on the braids. Right over middle, left over right, the smooth glide of Theron’s hair as the braid gradually narrowed to a point and was then secured by a small loop of thread or thin strip of leather.

“My mother taught me how to braid my hair,” Theron spoke, unprompted, once Zevran was perhaps halfway through. They’d shifted a little, cross-legged on the ground by the fire where there was more light, Zevran directly behind Theron. “None of the other hairstyles in the clan suited my hair, it was so short and fluffy when I was young.”

“Fluffy?” Zevran repeated with a laugh of disbelief.

“Yes,  _ fluffy _ . It was horrible, looking back.”

“I’d pay good coin to see that.”

“I know you would. Which is why you never will,” Theron smiled at him.

“Ah, so that’s the  _ real  _ reason why you never cut your hair.”

“It is indeed.” Theron’s tone was so grave, but Zevran caught a smile at the corner of his lips that told him it was alright to be amused. “But now, that’s one of the few happy memories I have left of her. She sang as she braided my hair, and she never usually sang. I suppose that’s why I remember it.” He continued, and Zevran watched the smile fade. Something closed off behind Theron’s storm-grey eyes, behind the vivid orange reflection of the firelight. It sank away into the black depths of his pupils. Creases formed at the corners of Theron’s eyelids, as if he was squinting. His mouth had settled into a grim line.  Zevran could tell a lot from such a brief moment. He rested his free hand on Theron’s shoulder, grounding him in the present, away from wherever the sunken thoughts were luring him to with painful memories.  _ I am here, my love _ , Zevran wanted to say. But he didn’t. Instead, 

“Such is the way of the world. It pulls our loved ones from us unthinkingly, uncaringly,” Zevran lowered his gaze to Theron’s hair, black threaded with embers of orange like molten fireglass. “You know, it was the women in the brothel who always braided my hair for me. They thought I suited it.”

“You do, the way you have it now,” Theron agreed. “It’s a nice style.”

“Ah, I could wear my hair in any style under the sun and it would suit me.”

“What about if you shaved it all off?”

Zevran knew Theron was teasing, but the very idea of cutting off all his hair filled him with an instinctive horror.

“Me?  _ Bald _ ? Theron, that would be a crime before the eyes of the Maker, the Creators, and any other higher powers.”

“It would be. I’m trying to picture it-”

“Don’t!”

“But I can’t.” Theron turned his head to give Zevran an apologetic look. “You’re far too handsome, I can’t picture you any other way.”

Zevran tilted his head curiously, spying a good opportunity.

“Oh? I can think of  _ several  _ ways I could be pictured. Most of them are naughty in one fashion or another.”

Theron chuckled at that.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Just imagine it.” Zevran leaned in close to one of Theron’s ears. “Me, reclining on silken sheets in a very fancy Antivan tavern, not a stitch of clothing on. Perhaps there’s some brandy and rope involved…”

Theron made a low humming sound. “Are you trying to seduce me, Zevran Arainai?”

“Only if it works,  _ mi amor _ ,” Zevran purred, resting his chin on Theron’s shoulder.

“It depends on how long you take on the rest of my braids.”

Zevran sat up straight and resumed braiding. He didn’t rush, because even with his nimble fingers rushing would lead to mistakes and wasted time spent fixing the mistakes. He took care not to pull on Theron’s hair more than necessary, keeping his touch gentle. 

As he worked, his thoughts wandered from seduction to the feeling of Theron’s hair in his hands, the warmth of his scalp. He found himself recalling all the times someone had braided his hair for him; first the whores of his childhood, and when he was older, the people he’d invited into bed with him. Taliesen. Rinna. Theron. He tried to picture Theron as a young lad in his mother’s lap as she tamed and braided his hair, singing to him. Now here they sat, Theron trusting Zevran to braid his hair for him. 

It was such a personal thing, letting another person touch your hair. A  _ funny _ thing, Zevran mused with a quirk of his lips, too. Why was hair such a sensitive expression of the self? And why did it feel so good to have someone run their fingers through your hair? Zevran had lost count of the times he’d been lulled to sleep with someone else’s fingers combing through his hair. 

“Braiding hair is such an intimate experience, no?” He spoke after he’d finished the next row of braids, pausing to stretch his fingers and give them a break. They sat so close together, and Zevran suspected that the only thing keeping Theron from leaning back against him was his hair. 

Theron looked over his shoulder at Zevran, and smiled. “It is. And  _ very  _ relaxing, because I’m not doing it for once.”

Zevran leaned forwards to press a gentle kiss to Theron’s cheek. “I’m glad that I could help you to relax,  _ mi amor _ .” He sat back, and continued braiding. Another row was soon done, all that was left was the crown of Theron’s head. Now he didn’t need to hold his hair out of the way, Theron began to braid the other side of his head. His fingers moved in deft, practiced motions. He’d braided his hair for most of his life. Zevran wondered at what age he’d started to braid his own hair. Had his mother taught him, or…? Unbidden, his mind created the image of a very young, very small Theron seated alone on an aravel stoop, his expression one of intense concentration, clumsily braiding his own hair without a mirror or another pair of eyes to guide him. His mother’s warmth and singing were no more than painful memories.

The fire crackled beside them, and it was only then that Zevran realised how dark it was. He looked up at the sky to see that daylight had all but fled. Above them, the stars glittered like so many tiny gems. “It’s a lot later than I thought,” he commented. “How long have we been sat here braiding your hair?” 

Theron looked up at the sky, and chuckled. “A long time, it seems. The stars are pretty.”

“They always are. Much like myself.” 

Theron laughed at that, but it was a reluctant laugh. His fingers kept moving, doing the last few braids.

“Was you asking me to braid your hair an elaborate plot to stargaze together?” Zevran teased, finishing the last braid he’d been holding and securing it with a small leather cord. His fingers seemed so slow compared to Theron’s.

Theron snorted. “Ah, yes, it was. To be honest, I just wanted an excuse to watch the stars together.” He rolled his eyes. “My hair didn’t really need to be braided.”

“I knew I would see through your cunning plan sooner or later.”

Theron finished the final braid, and leaned back against Zevran’s chest. “You’re not just handsome, but clever, too.” 

Zevran rested his chin on Theron’s shoulder, hands settling on his waist. “Don’t forget witty, charming, and royally tough to kill.” Now he could see the smile on Theron’s face, and the sight warmed him nearly as much as the fire warmed his skin.

“How could I forget?”

They sat in content silence, and then Theron ran his braids one by one through his fingers, checking they were secured and up to his standard. Zevran waited with no small amount of nerves; he’d mimicked Theron’s style as much as possible, but what if he’d made a mistake? Theron reached the end of his survey and seemed to be satisfied. He shifted, and Zevran sat back so he could turn around if needed. Theron indeed turned to face him, smiling once again.

“Thanks for your help tonight, Zevran.”

“It was my pleasure,  _ amor _ ,” Zevran smiled, the nerves vanishing as Theron gave him a gentle kiss of gratitude.

**Author's Note:**

> Two uploads in a week? Frabjous day!  
> The prompt was from here:  
> https://whatthefenris.tumblr.com/post/180646428389/romantic-dialogue-prompts


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